The Street Corner
by Divergentfourtris4ever
Summary: (Modern Day)-Tris ran away from her hometown in Alabama at sixteen years old after some bad events. Now, she's surviving on the streets of Chicago. One day when Tris is looking for food, she meets a very helpful man. Will she accept his help?
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: I own none of the characters. All rights go to Veronica Roth.**

 _Chapter 1_

I sit on the dirty sidewalk at the corner of the street. I breathe in the frigid air, which drowns out the smell of garbage all over the streets. I try my best to ignore the rip in my sleeve as I settle in for the night. I will never think that it is fair that I have to sleep on the rough sidewalks in Chicago, well everybody else is out in their heated cars.

I'm not a lazy hobo who wants people to pay for drugs, I'm honestly lost. I'm only seventeen years old, so I can only pray that I don't get caught lying in the streets. I don't want to go back to my home in Alabama. It's too dangerous.

The reason behind this is simple. When I was sixteen years old I was stupid and naive. I believed that even if my boyfriend hit me, that he still loved me. I believed that he was capable of love. All my innocence that I felt for the world fell from me like a stone when my abusive boyfriend, Peter, used me. I was too ashamed. I did the thing I do best. I ran.

I wake up to light snow flakes falling. I slowly inch my small, pale hand up to my face and feel my numb nose. I'm so cold that it hurts.

Most homeless people would be camping out by metal trashcans with bright fires illuminating the night, and out begging perfectly happy people for the money they worked hard to get by this time a year.

I sit up straight and look around to see if any of my few possessions are still there. I pick up a silver pan, which I use for a mirror, and the small comb that I brought with me from Alabama.

I try to wiggle my fingers, but pain shoots through my hand. I'm definitely freezing. I sigh and carefully pick a hand up to feel my hair. From what I can tell, it is still in a messy braid.

I begin to stand up, but fall right back down in pain. Coming down the streets are people in new suits and shiny hair, on their way to work. I could easily pickpocket one of the rushing men. After all, I only need one cup of coffee, and maybe some bread to last me the day, but I could never do that.

Instead, I tough and out, and stand up on my numb toes and start making my way to the trashcan outside a big cupcake shop. I remember when it used to be my dream to own a bakery.

I dig through the garbage, not phased by the disgusting smell. I am too determined to accomplish my goal for the day. Stay alive.

I carefully pick up a half eaten loaf of bread, and stare at it with eager eyes. I wouldn't say I was drooling over the filthy, germy bread though.

"Hey!" shouts a voice from the other end of the alley.

By instinct, I drop the bread and take off in the other direction, towards my street corner. I instantly curse myself for dropping such needed food.

"Come back here!" shouts the masculine voice again.

I run until I collapse on top of my torn old blanket with a sigh. I let out a large cough, which vibrates my chest. It even takes me by surprise.

I am still gasping for air when I feel a presence beside me. I whip my head to the side, to meet the eyes of a tall man with deep blue eyes. I bring my knees to my chest out of instinct. I still can't get over the fact that I can't trust men.

"Are you alright?" the man asks, in a deep voice I recognize from the alley.

I breathe in deeply and say, "I'm sorry I was in the trash, I just needed food."

He sighs and hands me a fresh vanilla cupcake. I haven't had one in a year. I snatch it from his hand and breathe in the scent of the fresh cake and sweet frosting. This I am drooling over.

I slowly take a bite, and enjoy the vanilla frosting tingling my taste buds.

"Thank you so much." I say, honestly grateful.

He laughs a deep laugh. "It was really no big deal."

I shake my head and grin at him slightly. "You have no idea how big a deal it is."

He shifts his position, so he is sitting on his bottom next to me. I take another bite of the fresh cake, and try not to look him in the eyes.

"Aren't you a little young to be living here?" he asks, quietly

I shake my head and pull myself into a tighter ball. It reminds me of my mother's embrace.

"I can't go home." I say with finality.

He nods his head and makes his way back into the cupcake shop. I wish I had the comfort of his nice black jacket, but I don't

"If you ever need any help," the man says, motioning to the shop. "I'm right here."

It is that moment that I decide that I need to move where I'm set up. Tris doesn't need help. Beatrice would need help. Beatrice would go running back home at the tiniest raindrop. Tris is brave. Tris doesn't need help. Tris especially doesn't need the help of a nice man with a black jacket.

 **AN: So that's the first chapter! This is my first fanfic so I'm not really sure if you want me to continue this. I'll be posting again maybe tomorrow or Tuesday. Please review this and tell me what you want to see happen with my story! I'll talk to you all next chapter!**


	2. Chapter 2

**I got this out earlier than I originally thought this was going to be up. I really hope you enjoy this chapter!**

 **Author's Note: I own none of the characters. All rights go to Veronica Roth.**

 _Chapter 2_

The moment I wake up I feel a strange feeling inside. I vaguely remember why. Last night I had a dream that I was back in my small town in Alabama. In the dream my father was reading the newspaper, and my mother was brewing fresh coffee. My brother Caleb and I teased each other while he had a book in hand.

At the memory I feel suddenly empty. Right now that could be a reality, except I'm not there. Everything could be different now, or they could be moving on just fine. I hope for the latter.

A light tap on my foot breaks me out of my trance. I look up and am met with icy blue eyes. They are not nearly as dreamy as that man's eyes from yesterday. This man's eyes give me a suspicious feeling. It is the same feeling I had when Peter was around.

"It's alive!" the man shouts looking back at his group of friends.

I scowl at him and stretch my back like he isn't even there. I don't have time to be teased by some high school jocks.

"I really don't have time for this." I say quietly to myself.

The man just laughs and says, "I'll see you later Stiff."

I heave a sigh of relief when his heavy footsteps get quieter. This is why I can't open myself up. There are mean people in this world just looking for somebody to hurt.

I move my hands a little only to feel that they move slowly and with mind numbing pain. _How can I be in so much pain when I'm so numb?_

As I stand up to dig through some trash, I can't shake the feeling of being watched. I hastily comb my dull, blonde hair through with my fingers on instinct. I look around slowly, and finally take in my full surroundings.

The ground is extra littered with old coffee cups and McDonald's bags. There is a tall building in the distance with a collection of windows on it. Unlike the last place I called home, the cold can't overpower the nose burning smell of garbage looming in the air. I should be used to it, but no matter who I am or how I live, I am still human.

While looking around, my eyes fall on two deep blue eyes. It's definitely that man from the alley. _Is he stalking me?_

Right away I cross my arms over my chest, almost as if to block out his scanning eyes. Yesterday, I had this strange feeling of comfort when he was crouched beside me with the fresh cupcake. It must have been the warm sweet in his hand because right now I only feel self conscious.

During my thoughts the man must have managed to sneak quietly up to me, because now he stands a mere foot away from me. I don't move back, I just stare at him with disbelief. _What makes him think he can watch me like that?_

"I was worried about you when I didn't see you outside of the shop today," he says after a few seconds.

I send him a look of distastefulness. "I don't even know your name."

He laughs and straightens his black jacket. A neatly straightened tie is peeking out from under it, and he wears nice cotton gloves. I also notice that his dark brown hair is newly wetted and he smells, I take a whiff, like a man.

"I'm Four, the manager and co-founder of _Sweet Treats_ ," he says, looking quite smug.

I don't comment on his name because I don't feel like commenting on my somewhat unique name. Still, his name is quite strange, even to a girl like me who's seen so much.

"You must really like cupcakes." I say, looking at him like he grew a third head.

Even after my bad experience with men, I have to admit he is anything but out of shape. Even through his jacket, you can see his well defined abs, and the way he puffs out his chest out of pride is something I don't miss.

"I know what you're thinking. How can such a sexy man, like me, enjoy eating sweets?" he says, holding up a large, calloused hand. "The answer is that I don't like eating sweets."

I feel my mouth part a little in shock despite my attempt to not react at all to anything he says. When I think further about it, he doesn't seem like the man to eat sweets. He seems like a tough and hard working man, with ungraceful hands not made for frosting freshly baked cake.

"What makes you think . . ." I begin to say, but I am interrupted by a tickling in my chest.

I let out a loud cough that I try to cover with the inside of my thin elbow, but fail. The cough comes out slobbery and it burns my throat. The moment my cough finally comes to a stop, I immediately wish I had just endured the annoying tickling in my chest and the rising cough in my throat, because now Four stares at me with a look of concern.

"I don't need your pity!" I yell louder than intended.

He rolls his eyes and his eyes roam my body, but not in a greedy way like Peter's eyes once did. His eyes roam my body like I am something broken that needs helping. Or maybe they roam my body like I am something capable of being fixed.

I drop my hands to my sides and allow him, for just a moment, to examine my torn, tan sweater and baggy old sweatpants. I let his eyes wonder to my old boots with one of the zippers torn, but the second he makes eye contact with me I cross my arms and look down.

I have always felt like staring into somebody's eyes is so much more personal than even looking at somebody's body. Eyes are where the deepest emotions are held. I'm not sure if he is the type of man to think that deep, but I don't want to find out.

"I don't . . . never mind," he says with a frown. "I don't want to have this argument here. Let's go somewhere warm."

I am about to argue when the mind blowing pain at the tip of my toes makes me think otherwise. I bite my lip lightly and allow my eyes to wander to his ocean eyes. They are not cold like Peter's. They are gentle and sincere.

"Fine, but I don't want handouts." I say sternly.

He takes my cold hand in his which I quickly yank away. Just because I'm going somewhere with this mysterious man with an odd name doesn't mean that I want him to touch me.

"I would never give you _warm_ food or clothes," says Four. I scowl at him and give him a glare. "I'm only kidding."

I sigh and trail behind him as we walk farther away from the direction I came from yesterday. I feel my eyes look in all directions in constant search of danger. I don't know if that's odd, but it's what I have to do to survive. There are so many dangers in this world.

Four takes me into a warm coffee shop with the similar smell of my home is Alabama on a calm morning. The once soothing smell now brings tears to my eyes. I quickly blink them away, but not before Four notices.

Once we are seating Four asks, "Are you okay?"

I can barely manage to croak out, "I'm just peachy."

He orders us both burning hot chocolate with small marshmallows floating in it. It seems like a perfect paradise just floating around in the hot tub of chocolate.

"You don't seem like the coffee type," he says, giving me a soft shove on the shoulder.

I flinch away from his touch and lean into the soft, leather fabric of my chair. He just doesn't know personal space.

"I'm not the coffee type, but I didn't pin you as the hot chocolate type." I say awkwardly, trying to break the tension running through the air.

The second the hot chocolate arrives I breathe in the hot smell that drowns out the chocolate. It is a well welcomed smell though. I take a sip and savor the way the delicious drink burns my throat on the way down. I have always loved the way scorching hot drinks seems to warm even my stomach.

"You know," Four says after a weird silence grows between us. "Everybody has weight on their shoulders. Without that weight, we would get weak and fall over."

I feel anger run through my veins as I hear him say the words. It is not the words he says, it is the way he says it. He says it like I have no right to act the way I do. Every man is like this.

I down the entire mug of hot chocolate and storm out of the shop before I have a chance to start screaming. I don't need all that attention.

I knew he couldn't be an honestly nice man. I shouldn't have been tricked again by that. Peter was the same way at first, with his sweet kisses and heart melting charm.

There is something that rings true about his words. We all have problems. We are all dealt cards in life and we can either deal with them or die. I have been dealt some awful cards in life. I still refuse to deal with them. Maybe I'm not as strong as I thought.

 **AN: That's chapter 2! I'm really happy about how that turned out. This is a Fourtris story, but it is going to be pretty slow, but you did see them being friends a little in this chapter. Next chapter will be, at the latest, on Saturday. Hope you enjoyed!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: I own none of the characters. All rights go to Veronica Roth**

 _Chapter 3_

I quickly learn that the reality of my new street corner is worst than it seemed. Not only do people find the need to clutter the ground with their stinky garbage, but the kids from the high school nearby are not too nice.

It has been two freezing cold days since I have enjoyed the warm hot chocolate settling in my thin stomach. The only positive is that it hasn't snowed. Today is the day I decide to be brave. In my small act of bravery, I will move back to my appropriate street corner, right by the cupcake shop, right by the man with the black jacket.

I yawn as a bend over, causing my breath to turn white in the below freezing air. I carefully pick up my torn wool blanket. I wrap it around my frigid body and begin to walk towards the place I have been avoiding.

When I am about ten yards from my street corner I have to stop because a fire is igniting in my lungs. I feel a burning in my throat as a cough forces itself from my lungs. I lean against the side of a grey brick wall and put a hand to my chest, applying slight pressure.

I feel a tap on my shoulder as I can no longer support my weight. My legs shake as I collapse into strong arms with no control over my body. I can't help it. _I cry._

The stranger holding me gives me a spike of fear until I smell it. _He smells like man._

I try to pull back, but it is too late. I am consumed by my never ending waterfall of tears. I will never be able to understand why I cry.

"It's okay," a voice says. "I got you, I promise."

Right before I fall unconscious, I swear I hear the voice mutter words I have never heard spoken to me.

"I'll protect you," the voice says. I truly do believe the voice.

I panic the second I wake up once I realize that I am not laying on my torn blanket or on the cracked pavement. _I am in a bed._

This brings shudders to my body about the last time I was in a bed. I find the dangerous streets safer than a bed.

I hear a running shower coming from the room over and I panic. _Have I been taken?_

I attempt to stand up, but instantly fall over. The fire in my lungs has not healed. My head pounds as I drag myself onto the bed. I want to get out of here, but pain is winning.

Finally, the door to the bedroom opens and reveals my captor, except he's not some crazy captor. He's the man with the black jacket. _He's Four._

"How are you feeling?" Four asks soothingly.

My eyes are instantly drawn to the fact that I'm wearing new clothes. My old torn clothes are gone, and instead replaced by a nice pair of sweatpants and a black hoodie.

"I would feel better if you'd tell me what's going on?" I ask harshly.

He sighs. "I found you wandering the sidewalk today. You were coughing a lot, which I think you should get checked out, and then you started crying before you passed out. I brought you back to my apartment and here we are."

I force myself to stand up, using the end table for support. I am extra careful not to knock over any of the frames sitting on it. In the frames is a middle aged woman who looks just like Four. Maybe it's his mother or a sister.

"How did I get in these clothes?" I ask, hunching over in pain.

He blushes a deep scarlet red and plays with the hem of his black t-shirt before saying, "You looked so sick, I had to change you."

I just nod, feeling the energy go out of me to fight. "I just want to get away from this bed."

He puts a gentle hand on my shoulder to support my weight. It's then that I notice how incredibly soft the hoodie I have on is. It is like wearing a blanket all the time. It is as soft as a pillow. Suddenly, the fabric itches at my skin, leaving an unpleasant burn.

When he situates me on the soft fabric of his couch, it feels like a burden has been lifted from my shoulders. It feels like I finally have somebody to trust.

"Want to talk?" Four asks slowly, like he already knows my answer.

He does know my answer. I shake my head. I can't talk yet. I pull at the sleeve of the hoodie and bring it to my mouth. It's an old habit that I haven't been able to do for a long time. In the corner of my eye, I catch Four's deep blue eyes trained on my small form.

I scowl at him. "What?"

His smile instantly drops. He begins stuttering over the simplest of words, forming incoherent sentences. Stuttering is an old habit that Peter had. It is a habit that brings a disgusted look to my face.

I form my lips in a straight line, and stand up with new found determination. My legs shake, but I'm okay with that. My head feels like it is filled to the brim with cotton balls, but I love it. My chest is engulfed in flames, but I smile through the pain.

"I'm leaving now." I say, puffing out my chest like he sometimes does.

"Please," he says eyes wide. "Please let me help you."

"I don't need your help." I say through a smile.

When I exit his large apartment, I'm surprised to find that my eyes are blurry with tears. _Do I really miss him that much?_

The ache that I feel for somebody I miss is not there. When I put a hand to my chest, I notice that my heart is beating fast, way too fast.

I stumble out of the apartment complex, and into a nearby alleyway. _This is nice._ The quiet is comforting.

Suddenly, everything feels muffled, like it is submerged underwater. My breathing becomes shallow, and as the ground swiftly approaches, I feel like my whole face is being covered by something, preventing breathing. I could almost compare the feeling of pained light breathing as a pillow being placed on my face. _A pillow._ The whole world goes out like a light.

 **AN: So that was my first ever cliffhanger. I just figured that I'd make it clear that she is not literally being choked with a pillow. It's just a comparison. You might also being wondering why I'm mentioning pillows so much. Well, it has something to do with her past. Haha that sounds kinda strange, but I promise it really isn't that weird. I don't know when my next update will be because Halloween is next weekend, and I'm going to a hockey game on Friday night for band. The update will be, at the latest, Sunday, maybe even earlier. I hope you all enjoyed. Please review with some ideas for the next chapter, or the future chapters. Bye!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: I own none of the characters. All rights go to Veronica Roth.**

 _Chapter 4_

The darkness is pleasant. It is a place where no color exists. There is no more pain. There are no more emotions. If I keep searching the darkness, all I will find is the same thing, the dark.

I don't have to talk to anybody here. I can keep searching for that tiny speck of light in the darkness that I know doesn't exist. White is a menacing color. The dark is okay.

I'm still in the darkness when quiet voices invade my euphoric break from reality. I try to shut them out, but my attempts are futile. The darkness is gone, replaced by a dark red color. _My eyelids._

"We have her on antibiotics right now," a bubbly voice says.

I hear a heavy sigh and another voice says, "She'll be okay?"

I hear some shuffling around, and then the feeling of being watched. I feel the warmth of a hand pressing against my arm.

"She'll be fine," the happy voice replies. "You really won't tell me her name?"

The more masculine voice lets out another sigh. "I would if I knew, but she wouldn't tell me it. All I know is that she is homeless and I've been helping her."

I decide that this is the right time to open my eyes. To be forced to look at the blinding white light and the toxic smell of a hospital. I've been to a hospital once before, when my mom broke her arm.

What I see surprises me. Four is leaning over me with this very sad look in his eyes, and a disheveled appearance. Their is a lady next to him with dark skin, but the first thing that sticks out like a orange in an apple tree is the jagged scar on the women's face.

I attempt to speak, but it just comes out as a groan. My muscles feel like liquid. It feels like something is weighing down on my whole body.

"Don't try to speak sweetie," the lady says in a kind voice.

I close my eyes in an attempt to compose my self before barely managing to speak out, "What happened?"

The lady takes a deep breath like she is preparing for a long speech. "I am your doctor, please call me Johanna. You have a lung infection, which we are treating you for, and we also would like to talk about your . . . living arrangement when you have recovered enough."

I allow my eyes to zone into Four's emotion filled eyes. I hope he isn't an emotional man. I can't stand seeing men cry. I do realize that I just basically invited Four into my life, but I don't invite him in for good. I'm just opening the door a crack for him to help out.

"I never told you my name, Four." I say quietly.

Johanna clears her throat like she is about to say something, but instead takes a step back between the two of us and shakes her head.

"You don't need to, I understand," Four says, in a sad tone.

I take a shallow breath, and wince at the pain in my chest. "My name's Tris."

He smiles in a way that I would never expect him to. He doesn't have a smug smile that puts me in my place. He has a genuine smile that I can see on his face as he steps into his cupcake shop. I can see him wearing that smile as he offers somebody a cupcake.

"Is that your real name?" he asks, crinkling up his nose.

I shake my head and say back sarcastically, "Is Four your real name?"

He presses his lips together until they lose all color. "No, but I'd really not like to talk about that."

I nod in understanding. There are things I won't talk about either. There are lots of secrets people can't know.

"It would be helpful if you gave your real name," he says after a moment of silence. "We could get your parents to come help you, but if you really don't want that maybe you could settle for me helping you."

I give him a confused look. Does he really expect me to tell him my real name after I have kept it locked up by a thousand chains for so long? Does he really expect me to go home after going through such drastic measures to leave?

That's when it dawns on me. He doesn't know what to expect from me. He doesn't know me at all. I am just a person, that he was drawn to help. I am a person of filth. I am a person that needs to rely on others. He is a warmhearted man. He can support himself and others.

"We all have regrets," he says quietly. "I regret stuff, and I figure that you might too."

"Maybe," I say vaguely with a shrug. "But maybe I don't."

He puts his hands up defensively. "Sorry."

I huff out a big breath and tear my eyes away from him. I look straight ahead at a small indent in the smooth, white wall in front of me. _I wonder how it got there._

I look back at Four only when he lays a gentle hand on my tense hand. He looks at me boldly in the eyes. He is not giving up. He could never give up.

"I don't know you," he says, dropping his voice just above a whisper. "But I want to"

I can't keep the small smile that stretches across my face. He might not be in my life forever, but I'll let him stay for awhile. He is not going to give up. I might as well get something out of it.

Over the next few days the burn taking over my chest starts to vanish. I have even managed to gain a few pounds on my nearly fat free body. Four has only left occasionally because duty called for him at the cupcake shop.

Johanna strides through the door to my hospital room wearing an extra happy smile. She stands in front of my bed with proud posture. Now that she stands up extra straight, I notice how short I am in comparison to her.

"Whenever Four comes back, you're free to go," she says, walking to my side to take out the IV.

I nod at her and say, "Why can't I leave without him?"

"I'm going to assume that you aren't eighteen yet, so I'm going to have to at least make you go with him. You're lucky, most people would do a test and find out who you are and then send you back to where you ran away from."

I look down in response. If she sees my eyes she will know how right she is. I am very lucky.

"I'm a very perspective person." she says quietly, seeing my confusion.

I hear a soft knock on my open, polished wooden door. Four's dark brown haired head peaks in with a happy and curious look. _He is always so curious._

"Is little Tris ready to go?" Four says in a sing-song voice.

I glare at him and slowly stand up from the soft hospital bed, stretching my aching muscles. I look down at the dotted pattern on the thin material of my hospital gown.

I look at Johanna quizzically, and she sends me a small smile before handing me a plastic bag with the warm clothing Four gave me. It takes all my strength to force a slight smile.

Four leads me up the stairs to his apartment with a smile plastered on his face. I don't understand his strong willingness to allow a guest such as me to invade his own home, but I don't understand him. I don't understand the man with the black jacket.

As soon as we enter the apartment, I wince. Not from pain or anything like that, but because I remember the last conversation I had in here. I was mean to the most kind person I've ever met.

"Make yourself at home," Four says, walking into a curtained off area. "We'll have you start looking for a job in a few weeks, when that infection gets better."

I nod even though he can no longer see me, as he has vanished behind the torn, blue curtains. I sit down on his soft couch and sigh.

It seems as if everything is torn lately. My health, my happiness, and my old self. I'm missing something that I can't seem to find, and I don't know what it is. But I do know this; the man will the black jacket makes me feel something different inside. Something good.

 **AN: I know that this update is coming later than expected, but I had some things I needed to deal with and still am dealing with. So, I got diagnosed with an eating disorder, but I'm working very hard to get healthy once again. I also need to see a therapist which I'm not very happy about, but I hope to update more often. Writing has always been an escape for me, so expect more chapters soon. I hope you enjoyed, please review and give me some ideas for later chapters!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: All characters belong to Veronica Roth**

Chapter 5

 _I am lying on a bed. The fleece itches at my skin as his body hovers over me, trapping me, making me feel cold to the core. He kisses at my neck softly and then harder and harder, until he is biting. I thrash as sweat covers my face, making my hair stick to the back of my neck._

 _"Shh," Peter says quietly. "It'll only hurt a little."_

 _He takes his soft pillow and covers my face with it. His pillow case is thin and smooth, like silk. It smells distinctly like him. I feel like I am suffocating, but he never presses hard enough to allow the air to completely leave my lungs, for my heart to stop beating. He's not kind enough._

I wake with a start, sucking in a breath of warm air from the heated room. With that breath I remember where I am. I am here with Four, in his apartment. He is a nice man. I've been here for three days and he hasn't been the slightest bit mean.

I hear the door open just a crack, like it always does when I'm fresh out of a nightmare. The light from the hallway blinds my eyes for a moment, but also provides me a warm sense of security.

"Are you okay?" Four asks soothingly, like he always does after a nightmare

I shudder a little at the thought of the nightmare I just has, except it wasn't a nightmare, it was a memory. A memory that sticks to my mind wherever I go, every hour of the day it is somewhere in my mind, wandering.

"I am now," I say quietly, running a hand through my fine blonde hair.

I look down at the black t-shirt I wear now, and feel a sick sense of regret and guilt. I have become to person who I always refused to be. I am now the person taking another person's stuff, stealing their bed. Of course it isn't intentional. If it were up to me I would still be on the rough sidewalk, leaning my head against a brick wall, trying to doze off.

In my moment deep in thought, I see Four turn to leave. I make some gurgling noise that rising up from deep in my throat. The words seem to get caught in my throat by what I'm going to ask. _To a complete stranger_ , I remind myself.

"Can you please stay with me for now?" I ask, suddenly feeling shy. "I need you to make the nightmares going away."

He silently walks over to the bed, his feet making quiet stomping noises until they come to a complete halt and the bed sinks down. I feel strong arms wrap themselves around me, and I breathe in a sigh of relief.

Silence fills the room, making it obvious that Four is holding something back. Finally he says, "Maybe you could talk about your nightmare."

I look over at him like he has grown a second head. This prying nature seems like the polar opposite of him. Although, I can see why he would pry. I am a complete stranger living in his house, and he doesn't know my past or my real name for that matter.

"It was about a bad man," I say after a moment of hesitation. "A very bad man."

I feel his arms hug me tighter, but I don't get the feeling that all the air is being taken away from me. I feel like I have just breathed my first breath of air. This is where my life starts.

"I'm glad you told me that," he says sleepily. "Now get some sleep."

I do get some sleep. I drift off into the world of oblivion. When a nightmare begins to surface, it is as if something clicks in my brain, reminding me of the arms that protect me.

I wake up the next morning feeling refreshed. I quietly tiptoe into the living room, as I do every morning. Four says to think of this place as my own, but I would never feel right about waking up dramatically, even if I were at home.

 _Home._ The thought makes my throat go dry, and my feet to freeze mid step. This place, where my feet touch the rough carpet, and I often find myself wearing Four's shirts. This is not home.

My home is where my feet slide on the slick, wooden floor. My home is where my parents yell at me for causing a scene when I run. My home is where I tease Caleb about his absurd amount of book reading.

I must have been standing there, frozen in my own deadly thoughts, because next thing I know, the same strong arms that encircled me at night, are leading me to the couch, where we sit to eat breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

"Maybe we should get out today," Four says after serving us cereal. "We could go ice skating."

My ears perk up at the mention of ice skating. It triggers a surprisingly pleasant memory of a time at the park when I asked my mom why people were sliding on ice.

"They are skating," my mother had simply stated, although she never once allowed me to set foot on the ice.

"I would like that," I say softly, downing the milk in my shiny bowl. "I've never been ice skating."

He narrows his eyes at me and asks, "How?"

I shrug my shoulders and shift my gaze down. Finally I say, "My mom said it was too dangerous."

"I'll catch you," he says, laying a gentle hand on my shoulder.

I laugh as Four slides around on the ice, and suddenly rethink my plan. For me, the ice seems to move for me, I just allow myself to be free, but for Four it isn't that easy.

He groans and says, "Looks like you'll be catching me."

I laugh at his statement, and continue to dance along the ice, only paying attention to the rough lines from the blades of skates. I feel a sigh of joy come from my mouth at the sound of joyous laughter.

For now I am okay. I am even happy. I am glad to being living in this euphoric moment, but if there is something I have learned after all these years, it's this; these moments only last for so long.

 **AN: I could give you some lame excuse as to why I haven't updating in nearly a month, but I honestly have no good one. I have been doing a little better since when I last updating. I still have a long road ahead of me, and I'm still a little reluctant to go to therapy, but I'm really doing better now. So this chapter you found out a little on the whole pillow thing, but it was really mostly a filler. I'm going to try to update soon since I have Thanksgiving break coming up starting Wednesday. Thanks for reading!**


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